


Untitled

by palominopup



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:40:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23296387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palominopup/pseuds/palominopup
Summary: This is something I wrote for my Palominopup FB group. I challenged them to write a paragraph or two using the five senses. I started typing out an example and this was the result. It was too long to post on my page, so I told them they could find it here.This is un-edited. If you find any mistakes, please hit me up.I may have to come back to this one day soon.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 28
Kudos: 198





	Untitled

Single father, Castiel, wasn’t a helicopter parent. Or at least that was what he told himself. But it was Claire’s first sleepover with Emma at her father’s home. Castiel knew Emma’s mother very well, but knew absolutely nothing about her ex, Dean Winchester.

“Why don’t we just wait until it’s Emma’s mother’s weekend?”

“No, Daddy. Her dad is taking us to the fair tomorrow. Don’t ruin this for me,” she whined with all the drama a ten-year-old could muster.

Sighing at the no-win situation, Castiel pulled his safety-tested SUV into the driveway of the modest home. A large gas-guzzler was parked in front of the open garage. It was pretty, he supposed, for an environmental nightmare. As they walked by, he smelled motor oil and ventured a glance into the cavernous space. A large workbench held a multitude of tools of every shape and size. So, this Dean person was handy. Castiel frowned. He could barely screw in a light bulb, but he had book smarts, and that had to count for something. Castiel imagined the man was one of those that sat on the couch every Sunday, drinking beer and watching football.

Claire beat him to the porch and rang the doorbell. It was Emma that answered and both girls squealed. Castiel thought that every dog in a two mile radius was going to start howling at the high-pitched sound. How did something so small and cute make that kind of ear-piercing noise?

Before he could speak, Emma and Claire disappeared down a hallway, leaving him standing at the threshold, unsure of what to do. Perhaps if he waited a minute, this Dean Winchester would come see why his daughter had made the sound of an irritated piglet. The seconds ticked by. Huffing at the lack of safety... anyone could have rang the bell and grabbed the child, kidnapping her and taking her to... to Timbuktu or some such place. Frowning, he stepped inside and closed the door.

The heady aroma of cooking garlic made his nostrils flare and he remembered he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, some nine hours ago. He followed his nose and it led him to a sunny kitchen. At the counter, stood a man that could have stepped out of a magazine spread. Castiel’s eyes roamed over his muscular arms and nimble hands fastidiously chopped a bunch of scallions. His gaze trailed over the man’s torso, partially hidden by a loose fitting t-shirt. He swallowed and then his eyes moved back to the face some would call pretty.

Green eyes, dancing with humor, stared back at him. “Last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid.”

“Oh, no, I... excuse me... I’m Claire’s father. Claire Novak... I’m Castiel. Castiel Novak.” Good God, the man probably thought he was a complete moron.

“Nice meeting you. I’m Dean. Emma’s dad. I heard Emma’s squeal and just assumed you’d dropped Claire off and left.” His hands continued to chop the vegetables and Castiel heard the sizzle of something in the pan on the stove.

“Is that burning?” The man, Dean, turned, took the handle of the skillet and tossed the lightly browned bits of onion and garlic.

“Nope. Just about perfect. Is Claire allergic to anything foodwise?” He cut the burner off and turned back to Castiel.

“No... no allergies.

“Cool.” He quickly rinsed his hands under the tap and dried them on a towel. Then he reached across the counter. “Like I said, nice to meet you.”

Castiel took the offered hand. He expected callouses with the garage full of tools, but the man’s hands felt smooth and warm. “Likewise.” Castiel found himself reluctant to let go of the strong grip. Another second and it would become awkward. He ended it before the man thought he was stupid and creepy.

“Want a glass of wine? A beer?”

“Oh... No. Thank you. I should be going.” Did the man look disappointed? Castiel’s people skills were rusty, but he could still read expressions and body language quite well.

“Yeah, sure. We’ll be back from the fair around three or four. I’ll just have Claire call you when we get home... if that’s okay.”

“Yes, of course. I hope you have a good time. I gave Claire spending money, so please don’t let her con you into thinking she is penniless and neglected.”

The man’s smile had enough power to light the greater Dallas metro area. Castiel swallowed his spit before he drooled. Their eyes met once again and held. Dean set the knife down and leaned casually against the stove. “Emma tells me you’re divorced too.”

“That’s right. It’s been a long time.”

“Divorce sucks, man, but it beats living in a bad marriage.” Dean shifted and added, “Don’t get me wrong, Emma’s mother is great, but we should have stayed friends instead of trying to make a go of anything serious.”

“I understand. In my case, Claire’s other father decided parenting was bad for his lifestyle.” Something flared in Dean’s gaze and Castiel wondered briefly if Emma’s dad was one of those stereotypical, homophobic, macho men.

“His loss,” Dean said softly. “You sure you don’t want a beer?”

“Maybe one,” Castiel murmured and took off his trench coat. Apparently, there was nothing stereotypical about Dean Winchester.


End file.
